Until It Breaks
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: “...Maybe I don’t want to push this ‘til it breaks.” .:. Purgatory is a bus, the same bus that ruined so many fragile things in one night. As House sits on this bus, a small conversation with a dead woman helps him realize a few things.


**A/N: So, after about three months or so of recording every House, M.D. episode on my Comcast cable DVR, I finally saw the "House's Head" and "Wilson's Heart" finale episodes (as of April 26****th****, 2009)! Yeah, I know, I probably could have looked it up sooner on Hulu or some other website, but I didn't feel like it.**

**Anyway, I bring you this little drabble inspired by those two episodes, mainly "Wilson's Heart". Enjoy~!**

* * *

"_I associate with you through choice. And in any relationship that involves choice, you have to see how far you can push it before it breaks."_

"…_Maybe I don't want to push this 'til it breaks."_

* * *

Thoughtful blue eyes the color of storm clouds freeze in place, unresponsive, as his body begins to seize.

Now, Gregory House has done some terribly foolish things in the past, such as sticking the blade of a knife into an electrical socket. But perhaps the most foolish thing he's done yet was not only take Alzheimer pills to jog the memory of his already fractured grey matter, but to also stimulate his memory further with a shocking probe directly into his brain tissue.

Unlike what he might think, House is not invincible. He can be wounded or wrapped up in trouble as much as the next unusual patient that walks in through the hospital doors. He should know by now – especially following the shooting incident – that he is merely human.

Yet House is the type of man who will stop at nothing until he gets what he wants, and what he wants are the answers. He will go to new heights in order to reach the correct diagnostic. Or, in Amber Volakis's case, go to any height needed in order to save her life. Not that House cares; what he cares about is being right. He cares that he can help James Wilson, someone who has been his friend and colleague for as long as he bothers to remember. The funny thing is, Amber's current safety is centered on what House can remember. The key is those fatal moments on the bus with her, and like the keys of a car unfortunately locked within the vehicle itself, it will take some prying to get this information out of House's mind.

There's a lot of things that float around in House's brain. Complex illnesses and their symptoms, pain medication that never seems to fully do their job, methods of treating diseases of almost any sort (not matter how ludicrous the illness or untested the treatment), and mountains upon mountains of other information, including strategic planning, medical records concerning past cases, snippets of info on his colleges, and dozens of faces that he can't always place a name on. So out of all this filler, out of all the things that take up little Greggie's thoughts, how is he supposed to drag from the depths of his mind one scrap of memory? One scrap that is so vitally important that occurred on a bus ride home after a night of slugging shots of scotch?

The hypnosis and "calming" bath (which, by the way, nearly drowned him) seemed to work for a little while, but not quite. Pieces, bit by bit, fell into place, but it wasn't enough. Not for House. His brain worked like the gears in a clock tower, smoothly churning but roughly-edged. And, to work in such a manner, he needed every last little piece, otherwise the clock would fall apart. Usually the pieces found themselves through metaphors and final tidbits of information given to him by some source or another, and the epiphany-expression would coat his eyes and drain his face of movement.

But not this time.

This time, due to his stupid need for memory, and his stupid logic to use medication to do so (since hey, that always solves all of his problems), he nearly had a grasp on what it was he forgot… and as soon as it was within reach, he fell into a comatose state.

_~X~x~X~_

The bright bleach white, much unlike the pale walls of the patient ward at his hospital, blinds House for a moment. His bare feet touch down on a cool, clean surface. His body rests in sitting position on a seat with a supportive back and soft cushion. As his pupils retract and adjust to the light, he finds himself once again on that God forsaken bus. Only now it's void of all people and color and vision past the glass of the windows.

Beside him, there is a smaller, leaner figure. He turns his head to stare, and the figure stares back with hazel green eyes. There is straight blonde hair and thin red lips that surround the green, paired with a small nose and pale cheeks. He knows this face anywhere; it's Amber, his best friend's current love and his previous employee.

"You're dead," he states flatly, his deep raspy voice echoing throughout the purgatory bus.

Amber nods casually, as if the statement doesn't bother her. Her bare feet scuff the floor as she swings her legs back and forth in a playful manner.

Confused beyond belief, House wonders aloud, "Am I dead?"

"No, not yet," Amber says simply. "Not unless you stay. But if you get off the bus, you'll wake up and be as right as rain."

House shakes his head slowly. "Nothing is ever that simple." Slowly, he adds, "Besides… I don't want to wake up." He glances down at his leg, half of his scar exposed by his hospital gown. "It doesn't hurt here. And if I don't wake up… I won't have to see how much he'll hate me."

"Who'll hate you?" Amber inquires with a tilt of her head. "I mean, there are plenty of people you don't like you very much; you're pretty much a huge jerk. Hell, that one guy shot you, remember? But I still don't think anyone _hates _you."

House looks away. "I'm talking about Wilson." He can't help but continue on with the remainder of his thoughts, ones he knows he could never share with the real Amber, if this is even the real Amber. "I shouldn't be alive, you should be. I should have been able to save you. Or, better yet, I shouldn't have gotten drunk off my ass and forced anyone to come get me. That way, we'd all be alive."

"Why does it matter so much?" she returns with a stomp of her foot. "It's not like you can change things. Life happens, House."

"I know!" he grumbles angrily. "But it doesn't make any sense. Why should you die? Sure, you're a manipulative bitch at times, but you're young and beautiful, and he… he loves you." He grips the back of the seat in front of him with an iron hold. "It doesn't make sense that you should die while I get to live. I'm bitter and resentful towards everyone, and much older than you. I'm –"

Amber rolls her eyes. "Since when do you wallow in self pity?" she snorts sarcastically.

House feels like snorting as well. "I'm only saying what Wilson might be thinking if I wake up. I've never been much of a friend to him, even though I risked my sanity to save you. But in the end, there was nothing I could do, was there? He has every right to hate me."

Amber sends him a warm smile, a smile as warm as the color amber itself. "But he won't hate you, I know it. He'll forgive you when he's done grieving, because deep down, you're all he has, and he's all you have." She leans back and peeks out the window at the blank space around them. "You need to live. There are people out there who will get sick, and you're the only one who can figure out how to make them better again. Plus, James can't lose two of the people he cares about, can he? He's such a sweet guy… he deserves more than that, don't you agree?" She casts her gaze back on House, olive green meeting up with icy blue. "Your leg will always ache, House. I know you don't want to be miserable, but you need to let it go. The only way to not be miserable is to be happy, right? And the only way to be happy… is to live long enough to find happiness. So go. Don't add salt to poor Wilson's wounds; get off of this bus, and live one more time. You've cheated death before; I'm sure you can do it again."

Confliction flashes in House's eyes as he deliberates the pros and cons of the choice, and mixes in Amber's words. This analytical thought process takes all of three seconds. Then, steadily, House stands and paces down the bleached bus's aisle. As he comes to the door at the end, he closes his eyes in anticipation and proceeds to step out into the white oblivion.

_~X~x~X~_

He wakes up in warm, familiar-smelling surroundings. It takes but a moment for him to remember his bizarre dream, his own name, and what happened prior. He glances over at his left and spot Cuddy curled up in a ball on a chair, her heels kicked to the floor below her. Beeping sounds fill his ears, signifying the mechanical beating of his own heart.

At the sound of a flat line, Cuddy shoots up into sitting position to find House disconnecting what's keeping track of his pulse. She inspects him with her weary eyes. "House…" she breathes in concern. A smile grows on her dry, lipstick-coated mouth. "You're finally awake."

He tries to respond, but his vocal cords don't seem to be obeying him. Instead, they constrict painfully in his throat.

Cuddy stops him before a single noise escapes his lips. "Shh, don't try to speak," she says as she leans over a bit more. "It's alright; everything is going to be fine now."

_No, it's not, _House thinks as he looks past her at the glass wall ahead of him.

James Wilson stands there, his face contorted for a moment and then dropping into what can only be identified as sorrow. He pinches the bridge of his nose, his chocolate brown eyes falling shut as he turns away and walks down the hallway. Not a thought comes to Wilson's mind.

_Not yet, anyhow. But if I'm careful, everything will be fine in time._ And House knows he's right about this, because when is he ever wrong?

Wait, that's a bad example, since he has been wrong before. So, instead, he places his bets on normalcy returning due to the fact that Wilson is never wrong. Because, really, in everything he does… Wilson does what feels right.


End file.
